CHAPTER XX
THE WITCH'S WARNING
Whistler had been assured when he attended the session in the sheriff'soffice at home, before joining the crew of the _Kennebunk_, that theenemy alien named Franz Linder, who was supposed to have blown up theElmvale dam, was an influential member of that band of spies that weredoing so much harm in the United States.
It was surprising to find this scrap of a letter addressed to the spy inthis island cabin off the coast of North Carolina. Yet it smacked of noimprobability.
Whistler had heard the spy tell the skipper of the oil carrier, the_Sarah Coville_, that his work was done in that vicinity. Linder, orBlake as he was known at Elmvale, had naturally got well away from theneighborhood of the dam after it was blown up.
That he was on this island at the present time was not so likely; butthat he had been here, and in this cabin, was very possible. Perhaps hadthe castaways from the wrecked yawl arrived a few hours before at thecabin of Mag they might have seen the German spy.
The old woman who tried to make Whistler believe she possessed secondsight, or some gift quite as uncanny, was in league with or had someknowledge of Franz Linder. The boy was confident on this point.
She was of German descent at least, and she showed bitterness toward"the Yankees." However, she proved herself to be a hospitable hostess.It was her southern, not her Teutonic, training probably that led tothis.
Whistler could not read German, and he did not know that any member ofhis party could do so. Nevertheless, he crumpled the bit of paper in hishand and thrust it into his pocket, biding his time until he could showit to Mr. MacMasters.
It was ten o'clock before the stew was ready to be dished up. The aromaof it awakened the hungry men.
"This must be heaven, for it smells like mother's cooking!" declaredSlim. "Oh, yum, yum! Oh, boy!"
"The old lady ain't no angel," put in Jemmy; "but she sure can cook."
"And angels can't, I guess," added Torrance, grinning.
"Say, boy!" grinned Rosy, "didn't you ever eat angel cake?"
Whistler found his chance to speak to Mr. MacMasters when the otherscrowded around the table. Mag put the steaming kettle of stew in themiddle of the bare board and ladled it out into brown earthen bowls.
"See what I found on the floor here, Mr. MacMasters," Whistler saidquietly, and thrusting the paper into the ensign's hand. "Don't let theold woman see it, sir."
Mr. MacMasters was cautious. He held the paper under the edge of thetable and saw almost instantly what the communication was and to whom itwas addressed.
"That's the name of that spy you boys say blew up the Elmvale dam, andwas out on that oil tender we chased in the submarine patrol boat, isn'tit?" whispered the ensign. "I declare! Did you find it here?"
"Yes, sir. You see, the edge of the paper is browned. The whole letterwas probably thrown into the fire on the hearth and this piece failed tobe destroyed."
"You've hit it right, I fancy," agreed the officer. "Something queerabout this old woman and about this place."
"She knows we are from the _Kennebunk_, too. How should she know so muchif she wasn't in with the spies?"
"And she knew too much about the steamer being mined in the channelover there," muttered Mr. MacMasters.
"It looks as if we were watched by the spies and that she is in cahootswith them," Whistler suggested.
"Humph! Maybe. You can't read this letter, I suppose, Morgan?"
"No, sir. None of us boys read German. Not even Ikey, although heunderstands the language quick enough when it is spoken. And poor Ikeyisn't here!"
"Don't worry about that," advised Mr. MacMasters. Then: "I do not thinkany of the men can translate German. Of course there is probably nothingon this paper of present moment to us.
"What we should do first is to find the rest of our crowd and get offthis island. The _Kennebunk_ will be coming back up the coast and we'llmiss her altogether."
"I hope the other boys are safe," sighed Whistler anxiously.
"I hope they have as good a refuge and are treated as kindly as we are.But we can't make a search of the island in the dark. Besides, they maynot have landed on this island at all. There are other beaches quite ashospitable as this one proved, I have no doubt."
Whistler and Torry helped the old woman clear up and wash the bowls andspoons after supper. She sat in the chimney corner and puffed awayslowly at a short-stemmed and very black pipe.
The seamen were rather afraid of Mag, Jemmy especially. He carefullycrossed his fingers whenever she chanced to glance in his direction.
Mr. MacMasters went outside to assure himself that nothing could be donetoward searching for the rest of the crew of the auxiliary steamerbefore daybreak. It was as dark as Erebus without, and the gale stillblew strongly off shore.
The ensign politely asked the strange old woman what arrangements theyshould make for the night.
"We don't wish to turn you out of your bed, you know, Ma'am," he said.
She waved him away, the pipe in her hand. "Tumble into yo' bunks," sheordered. "Old Mag doesn't sleep--hasn't slept for more years thanyou-uns are bo'n already. That is why she knows more than others--yes!The spirits of the night come and whisper to her while she stays awake."
"Arrah! D'ye hear that now?" whispered Irish Jemmy hoarsely. "'Tis asmuch as our lives are worth to stay here."
Superstitious as he was, Jemmy was afraid to leave the cabin alone.Most of the castaways were glad to retire to the berths again and,blessed with full stomachs, it was not a great while before they fellasleep.
The two Seacove boys finished helping the old woman.
"You are a pair of good boys," she said after looking at them for sometime and muttering to herself the while. "Why don't you run away? I'llget you off the island yet, befo' that officer man wakes up."
"Why, Mother! we don't want to run away," Torry told her, laughing. "Webelong to one of the Navy's crack superdreadnaughts."
"Aye, I know. The _Kennebunk_," said Mag, nodding gloomily.
"Sure," Torry rejoined. "We want to see some fighting."
"'Tis not fighting you-uns'll see," croaked the woman. "Old Mag tellsyou, and she knows. Yo' fine, big ship will go down in the midst of theseas and her crew with her. Better yo' luck if it happens befo' yo' gitback to her already."
"You don't mean that?" Whistler cried.
"I'm a-tellin' yo' so," said the queer old woman. "Old Mag knows mo'than other folks. Oh, yes! She'll sink. Better yo' boys stay ashore."
"What do you know about 'the witch's warning'?" whispered Torry toWhistler. "She thinks she's got second sight. Knows more than anybodyelse. She's like one of the Seven Sutherland Sisters--she prophesies."
"Shucks!" chuckled Whistler in the same cautious tone, "they weren'tprophetesses; they sold hair restorer."
But to himself Whistler muttered:
"Maybe she does know more than we do. But how does she know it? There'ssomething awfully queer about this whole business."